


Oomans Never Give Up

by A_Damned_Scientist



Category: Farscape
Genre: Challenge Response, Drugged Sex, Drugs, Episode Related, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-04-21 12:45:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14285205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Damned_Scientist/pseuds/A_Damned_Scientist
Summary: Have you ever thought about what is really going on in the drugged-out fantasy wedding scenes in DWTB? Best not think too hard, or you might write a fic like this.





	Oomans Never Give Up

**Author's Note:**

> Noranti, A Constellation Of Doubt: “It’s the quality that first attracted me to your uncle: You’re so ignorant, but you never give up!”  
> SC90 response. I had forgotten all about it, but Vinegardog and Shermel reminded me of it on Sunday, so I had to share.
> 
> Setting and warning: Dog With Two Bones – you do realise that the part of Aeryn in John’s wedding fantasy was played by Noranti, yes? So, extrapolating that... please take fair warning. Rule 34 and all that.
> 
> Thanks and blame: Thanks to Vinegardog for the extremely speedy for the beta read. And to Strangewebby for the challenge. But also I feel I ought to blame several guilty parties for planting the seeds of this fic and egging me on. Names will not be named though, to protect reputations. You know who you are.
> 
> Disclaimer: No money is made. Do you really think anyone wants to pay to read this?
> 
>  
> 
> You can stop reading now. There's still time.

**Oomans Never Give Up**

Noranti had only ever intended for her powders to help the strange, distraught creature called Crichton. He had seemed so distressed by what one might call a ‘reality-gap.’ So, once safely aboard his ship and alone with him she had medicated him to help him explore his fantasies and to counterpoint them with how reality would intrude upon them should they come to pass. She hadn’t thought to gain anything from it herself, save maybe his friendship and trust. But things had taken a most unexpected turn. Unexpected, but delightful none the less: The beautiful, bizarrely sentimental male seemed to be hallucinating some sort of elaborate marriage ritual. And in this ritual, his bride was none other than the surly raven haired Peacekeeper female called Aeryn Sun. How unlikely! However, on the bright side, as the central character in his hallucination it was only natural that Noranti had taken the place of Sun.

The wedding was a convoluted affair. There had been speeches, a chaste kiss or two and delightful dancing. Noranti had always enjoyed dancing. And to dance with such an attractive and attentive male was a double delight. But now things seemed to be later in the evening and something most unexpected had happened. Crichton had dropped to his knees at her feet and had gently lifted her left foot by the ankle, placing it with reverence on his horizontal thigh. This had caused her skirts to tumble aside and expose the length of her leg, all the way to the wide, elasticated tops of her support stockings. Noranti placed her hands on her hips and was about to rebuke John gently for being so forward when both of his hands started to trail seductively up her leg. As the tips of his fingers made their way leisurely towards her upper thigh she even, bravely, resisted the urge to tell him how much it tickled. How could she with the huge grin and happy eyes he was sending her way? It would be cruel not to play along with his fantasy. It would break his fragile heart.

To her brief disappointment his hands stopped when they reached the small poultice of healing herbs she kept wrapped around a bothersome sore on her upper thigh. Well, she guessed he had to stop somewhere, unless his people had very open minded attitudes. After all, in his fantasy they were still at the party, surrounded by cheering guests. His gentle fingers wrapped around the twisted band of cloth and began to move it down her leg. Fingertips of both his hands religiously stayed in contact with her leg, stroking their way along her thigh, around her bent knee and on down her calf. It was most delightful. Noranti shuddered in pleasure. Poor Ooman: did he not realise that attention of this sort would be wasted on the Peacekeeper female? They liked it nasty, brutal and short, in her experience and considered opinion. A lady of Noranti’s sensibilities and refinement, however, was well able to appreciate his touch.

But back to the present. One should always make the most of the present, Noranti  firmly believed and the way the Ooman was touching and looking at her made for a delightful wedding present. Finally the poultice passed over her foot and Crichton tossed it away. He stood, but instead of resuming a dance or something similar, he bent slightly and swept Noranti up into his arms, one hand holding her beneath her knees, the other under her shoulders. Before Noranti could protest she found herself being carried off, out of the central chamber and along the Leviathan’s darkened corridors.

Well, this was most unexpected. Pleasant but unexpected. Not that she was complaining. In fact, she giggled with amused excitement at the thrill of it all.

She wondered whether she ought to rouse Crichton? But then it was important that he fully addressed the issues which were making him so unhappy. More so, it was her duty as his self appointed therapist to help him do so. He would never get relief from what ailed him if he didn’t get it out...  in the open. Clear....  the air. Besides, they’d already reached his quarters. Selflessly, she decided to let his cathartic therapy continue. She tugged the privacy curtain shut behind her as they passed. 

“Oh!” she gasped as John set her down on her rather unsteady feet, immediately burying his face in the long, grey hair blanketing her neck, sucking and nibbling at her skin. Her throaty chuckles and growls of pleasure only seemed to encourage him further. Eager fingers tugged at the fastenings to her purple velvet dress, undoing it with surprising speed and efficiency.  

John paused and frowned as the garment tumbled down. Noranti deduced that he seemed perplexed. Maybe it was because her loomas were not quite where he had expected them to be? Or maybe it was because they were not quite as firm and pert as he had expected them to be? Instead of canoodling her loomas his wandering hands seemed to be measuring the distance between where they were and where they expected them to be. She knew that so much confusion risked a full dislocation: He was on the brink of exiting the vision, and if he did that, how would he learn whatever lesson he might be learning from this? For his own good she needed to distract him. Keep him in the moment. 

Noranti  made a decision. She thought and acted fast, dropping to her knees. Her third eye glowed, incandescent, first blue then red, as she tugged open his tight-fitting leather trousers.  The sight that greeted her was literally and metaphorically an eyeful. A veritable limb sprung forth, huge and inviting. Noranti hadn’t been around for three centuries without learning a trick or two, and soon her age-withered lips and tongue were making a fine imitation of Officer Sun’s full lips and preternaturally talented tongue, entertaining Crichton to the best of her abilities, keeping him focussed on the here and now of his wedding-vision.

Indeed, so talented was her mouth and so immersed in the vision was John that he barely lasted two macrots before Noranti was taken totally by surprise. Noranti was disappointed, but not shocked, that he didn’t last long. He was only a male, after all.

Crichton’s backlog must have been enormous.  She had heard gossip in her short time aboard Moya that Crichton had not been regularly rebalancing his fluid levels, but nothing could have prepared her for this. Did the man not have two hands and a normal, healthy imagination? How could he have allowed such a dangerous build-up of fluids? 

As her mouth filled to overflowing Noranti resolved to keep an even head. Who knew how precious his fluids were? They were surely unique, unique in this part of the Universe. She must gather them, bottle them, store them for use in her cooking and herbology. For although this was an impressive outpouring, who knew when she could next be assured of renewing her supply? She swallowed what she could, for later regurgitation, and happily allowed the rest to decorate her spider’s web of silvery tresses. Her hair had been quite dry and brittle during her imprisonment on the carrier, so with luck prolonged exposure to his effusions would do it some good?

“Sorry, baby.... It’s kinda a compliment, though...  you must admit...  you’re just....” John babbled on, partially lifting her and easing her down onto the edge of the bed. “But don’t worry. Humans never give up!” Noranti frowned, momentarily wondering what he had in mind with that remark, but then her eye glowed brightly again as realisation gripped her thoughts and his hands gripped and lifted her legs. Her breath hitched and her cheeks flushed as her head fell back onto the mattress, her tresses spreading behind her across the sheets in a gossamer cloud. Then John’s lips and tongue fell with relish onto her warm, smelted core. 

Well. It seemed he hadn’t been lying when he’d claimed that Oomans never gave up. It was so nice to find a male who could appreciate, and even revel, in the heady bouquet of her natural fragrances. Although Noranti was vaguely disappointed when John had turned out not to be a dog with two bones, his fingers and lips and tongue made a more than adequate substitute. Soon she was bunching the sheets in her fists like she was a jirl of just 69 once again. 

“Oh!!!!” she exclaimed, louder this time, as sensations that she hadn’t felt in many decades swept her away on a wave of delights.

But nothing, not even Noranti, not even a creature who claimed never to give up, could last forever. Almost as soon as her shivering frame betrayed that she was done he flopped down on the bed beside her and inside two macrots was snoring loudly. Still, on the bright side, his comatose state would enable her to bottle the copious fluids he had gifted her. She began to fuss around his quarters, looking for and emptying any containers that might serve her purpose. She took a sniff of one bottle, shrugged dismissively at his choice of intoxicants and dumped it's contents on the floor.

And anyway, she mused as she regurgitated into the bottle, there was always next time. He surely still had issues to work out surrounding the flat-butted Peacekeeper tralk who was the object of his desires. And Noranti felt honour-bound to offer him a helping hand or two to help him achieve his happy ending when the next opportunity came around.

 

The end


End file.
